Wanted
by Miri17
Summary: Bel'anna Tor has just been named Champion of the Great Hunt. She's already proven herself to be one of the greatest bounty hunters in the galaxy, but Mandalore isn't done with her yet. Takes place after Chapter 1 in the Bounty Hunter class storyline. BH/Torian.
1. Sire of the Brood

_Drommund Kaas_

The Hunt was over, and she was Champion.

Bel'anna Tor had worked for months to earn the title, and finally had the privilege to meet Mandalore himself. Of all the things he wanted her to do to prove herself, killing some dumb beast hadn't been what she'd expected. But if he thought this faceless creature was worthy of her skill, she'd kill it.

She'd been on Drommund Kaas during the Hunt and wasn't eager to return. She'd been on worse planets, but the relentless rain got into the joints of her armor. Even heated plating didn't keep her dry all the time.

Mandalore had given her the coordinates to the Mandalorian camp, so as soon as she left the spaceport she was on her speeder to the muddy patch. For a bunch of fierce warriors, it didn't look like much. A couple tents, some supply crates, and a fire. The men—for it was mostly men—were in full armor, but they looked like they'd been avoiding action instead of heading into it.

She dismounted her speeder next to the fire. A grim-looking man came right up to her. "This is a camp for warriors, not hikers. You aren't welcome here."

"That's funny," Bel'anna said, cocking her hip and planting her hand on it. "Mandalore seems to think differently."

The man scoffed. "And you are?"

"She's more warrior than you, Jogo," a second man interjected.

"You're one to judge!" the man spat. " _Arue'tal_." Bel'anna didn't need to speak Mando'a to know that the word was an insult. _Mandalorians treat each other with utmost respect unless someone is a coward._ This man looked anything but cowardly. His dirty blonde hair was shaggy and hung into his blue eyes, but it was hard to focus on the rest of his face when the matching scars on each cheek were so pronounced. Each scar looked like an sky-facing crescent with two downward strikes through it, and Bel'anna immediately wondered what the story was behind them.

The broad-shouldered man stepped up to Jogo. "Huntmaster declared her Grand Champion."

Jogo crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at Bel'anna. "That true?"

"Do you need a demonstration?" She yanked her blasters out of her belt without a breath, aiming them at the ground but prepared to change their target.

Jogo didn't flinch. "Winning the Great Hunt doesn't make you one of us. Finish up whatever brought you here, and go."

"Never mind him," the second man said, giving the first a glare as he stepped into the light. "It's an honor."

"Nice to meet you too," Bel'anna said. Although she wasn't in the mood for formalities, she was always on the lookout for allies-and a Mandalorian could be her greatest ally yet. She holstered the pistols. "Got a name?"

"Torian Cadera." His eyes ran over her equipment. She was fully armored in durasteel from shoulder to toe, only having her helmet off so the Mandalorians wouldn't shoot her on sight. She was equipped with a jet-pack, flame thrower, dual pistols, dart- and rocket-launchers...the tools of her trade. Torian took it in and said, "Taking the head of one of our beasts?"

"That's right. Supposedly I'll know what head it is when its lying at my feet."

"I get it," Torian said, crossing his arms. "The sire of the brood. No one's seen it, but it's there. Its very heartbeat is in the walls."

"Better warriors than you have tried," Jogo interjected. "They never returned."

Bel'anna growled, "It sounds like you're looking for sympathy, but I'm here to get the job done."

"If the sire is here, it would be that way," Torian pointed to a gaping maw in the side of the rock face. "Even its offspring take a full arsenal to down. Weakness in the back of the skull, if you can get to it. Good hunting."

Bel'anna didn't need to check her equipment again; she was ready. Her long white hair was already tied back in a relentless ponytail, so she shoved her helmet over her head. Blue readings appeared in her peripheral vision, marking organisms that could be threats. Torian's face was lost behind a target marker. She turned and marched straight into the cave, the flashlight installed in her wrist armor active.

She killed three of the creature's "spawn" along the way. They were hideous, as tall as her but covered in craggy grey skin with bioluminescent tissue underneath. A few blaster shots through the eyes, a couple rockets, and they went down.

The tunnel opened up into a huge space. It glowed with the dim light of glowing mushrooms. Their blue light glinted off dripping walls. Bel'anna immediately noticed the pile of bones ahead of her.

Then the ground shook.

The beast thundered in from across the cave. It was thirty feet tall, and almost as wide. It galloped in on all fours, hunched over on hulking gray arms. Through his craggy skin, streams of lava glowed. His burning eyes were framed by massive horns, tusks, and a mouth overflowing with jagged teeth.

Bel'anna didn't hesitate. She launched an explosive dart directly into its throat. It rushed for her with a deafening roar. Bel'anna leapt off the ground and activated her jet pack at the same time, leaping over the beast's head as it charged under her. She turned and fired rocket after rocket at the base of its skull, pummeling the same point relentlessly. It buckled forward under the blows, howling in rage, but turned to face her. She blasted its face with her flame-thrower.

The explosive dart finally blew, breaking a huge chunk out of the beast's neck. It crumpled forward, no longer able to scream. Bel'anna smashed her durasteel boots into the back of its head, where she'd been shooting it, and her feet sank in as she pushed the beast to the cave floor. She punched her armored hand into its skull and beamed a laser directly into its brain.

The beast collapsed.

Bel'anna finally exhaled as she pushed herself up, taking considerable effort to extract her boots from the gore of the beast's scattered brains. _This looks like a cleaning job for Gault._ Although the Devaronian con man had turned out to be a considerable help on several of her missions, he was also a pain the butt.

When she landed on the floor, she examined the body. That was a massive skull—even all those rockets could have only knocked it out. Just to be sure, she directed her laser cutter at its throat and neatly sliced through its neck. The head tipped forward.

Bel'anna unhooked her comm from her belt and called Mako. The girl's image appeared over the device.

"What's up?" the cheery cyborg asked.

"I got a beast head for you to pick up."

"Oh…great," she said enthusiastically. "Can I send Gault?"

Bel'anna chuckled. "Sure, just get it on the ship within the hour."

"You got it."

Bel'anna didn't want Mako (or even Gault) to have to fight back into the cave, should it come to that, so she hooked onto the head with her grappling hook and used her jet pack to drag it out of the cave and back to the edge of the Mandalorian camp.

As she unhooked the head and strode toward the fire, Torian called, "She's back!" She approached the fire to wait for Gault. "How'd it go?" Torian asked.

"See for yourself." She gestured over her shoulder, and Torian's eyes widened at the sight of the five-foot wide head.

"Impressive."

The man from before—Jogo—shook his head. "How did you kill it when so many of my clan have failed?"

"If they were anything like you," Bel'anna said, biting back the acid in her breath, "They were too hungry for the kill to think about what they were getting into. Bounty hunting is as much about fighting smart as it is about fighting hard."

Jogo ground his teeth and looked away. "There must be something to what you say, if you killed it and they died." He looked up, then suddenly stood straight as a spire. "I salute your victory."

Bel'anna held up a hand. "Whoa there, no need to go overboard—" Bel'anna started, but next thing she knew, Torian had shouted, "Hail to the victor!" and the whole clan was whooping and shaking their fists.


	2. The Blacklist

_D.S. Mantis_

"Ugh, the leader of a whole race of warriors really wants this on his wall?" Gault grumbled as he finally settled the Sire's head in the cargo hold. "Ah well, if it pays…" He dusted his hands and looked at Bel'anna, who stared back mutely. "It _does_ pay, doesn't it?"

Bel'anna shrugged. "Mandalore didn't say."

" _What_?" Gault exclaimed. "I'm going to be cleaning off beast guts for days, and _now_ you tell me—"

Bel'anna cut him off. "It _will_ pay when we have access to the Blacklist."

Gault's face was frozen in mid-gag, but then he considered. "All right, I'll take your word for it. I expect to drink that beast's weight in Taurian wine when this is over."

Bel'anna snorted. "What makes you think 'this' will ever be over?"

Gault froze. "What, you planning on hunting until you get a blaster to the head? No thanks, Tor."

"Bel'anna," Mako called from the upper level. "You've got someone on the holo." By the expression on her face, Bel'anna guessed this _someone_ was important. _Mandalore must already be getting back to me on the Sire._

She clunked up the _Mantis_ ' steps, knowing full-well that she was trekking Sire gore up her ship. _Gault is paying every day for me sparing his life._

The man who hovered in blue above the holoterminal was recognizable, all right, but it wasn't Mandalore. His face was defined by the blocky black tattoo around his eye. _I'm not the only hunter writing sins on my skin_ , she thought as she mentally traced the swirling red marks on the left half of her face.

"Hello, hunter," Bloodworthy said.

Bel'anna's shoulder blades pressed together, and she said, "You got something for me?" _A Blacklist bounty?_

He said, "Relax, this isn't a prank. This bounty is more of a Blacklist tradition than an actual contract. It's been passed from hunter to hunter for over a decade." _A decade? Who is this guy, a shape-shifter?_ "I'm the last one to take the contract who's still breathing, so I'm the one passing the torch."

"I just need the who and the where."

"Now that information's going to cost you. See, every hunter to take the contract puts up an ante. The one who actually bags the target claims the stakes. Nobody expecting things to carry on this long, so the payout's grown over the years. The ante is listed on the job."

Bel'anna wasn't a gambler. She knew how to keep her friends close and her money closer. But for a chance to earn the respect of every other Champion? "I'm in. Mako, wire the credits."

"You got it," Mako said from a nearby terminal, already halfway done with the job.

"That's it. Not going to bankrupt you, but odds are it's credits you're never going to see again."

"Your target is Jicoln Cadera, a Mandalorian who's been in exile on Taris for ages now. Word is, he's been dead for a long time—but don't be taken in. Jicoln's still alive, and he's still very dangerous."

 _Cadera. Why is that name familiar?_ She'd have Mako do a thorough search as soon as the call was over. "What's he wanted for?" Bel'anna said.

"This all started between Jicoln and Mandalore. Jicoln refused Mandalore's call—unforgiveable on its own, but Jicoln went one step further and rallied an army against him. Jicoln's forces were routed and ultimately fled to Taris. He's been hiding there ever since."

"What got into him that he'd go up against Mandalore?"

"No idea," Bloodworthy admitted. "It's a touchy subject, and I'm not interested enough to risk asking. I do know that Mandalore was serious about killing him. It took a year of searching and a great many dead before Mandalore finally washed his hands of the traitor and left him in exile. Ever since then, the Grand Champions have attempted to win the glory of taking Jicoln's head."

Bel'anna's mouth twitched. "Excellent. I'm ready for a challenge."

"Don't get your hopes up," Bloodworthy said. "This Blacklist mark has evaded around two dozen hunters over the years. Friendly word of advice? If you're going to pick up the trail before the Empire wipes it out, you're going to need more than your own two eyes. There's a Mandalorian base camp on the ground—I'd speak with the ranking officer there."

"Done," Bel'anna said. "Don't get too comfortable with those credits—you're going to have a traitor to pay for soon enough."


	3. Establishing Base

Establishing Base

 _Taris_

Taris disgusted Bel'anna from the moment her boot sank into the swampy earth. It reminded her too much of Hutta, with its sickly moisture and heat, its relentlessly wild vegetation. Even the Mandalorian base camp that Bloodworthy had directed her to was overrun with weeds and covered in muck.

She and Gault approached the man inside the plasteel structure. He wore battle armor despite the heat; even Bel'anna had opted for lighter-weight cloth armor to suit the environment. He was bald, and tensed before she set foot in the structure. He whirled around from his workstation to stare her down. She was surprised to find his face riddled with hardware, including one of his eyes replaced with a cybernetic implant. Scars mutilated half of his face.

He relaxed in recognition, then nodded his head in respect. "Su'cuyogare, vod. What brings me the honor of having Mandalore's chosen in my camp?"

Still unfamiliar with the language, she risked returning the greeting. "Su'cuyogare vod. I'm hunting Jicoln Cadera. You know anything that can help me find him? Even records of the previous Champions' work would help."

"The traitor? No, no sightings. But then, we don't pay attention to ghosts. Jicoln's a lingering shade best forgotten. You believe he's still alive?"

"It would be hard to kill a dead man," Bel'anna said. "And that's what I'm here to do."

The Mandalorian Captain snorted. "You could encounter some competition. I've got at least a thousand men who'd like to claim that honor. Better keep this to ourselves; I want my troops following orders, not chasing rumors. If the traitor's alive, it would make some sense. His son was with us until recently. Disappeared."

 _Yes—Jicoln's son._ Bel'anna had followed up on her intent to search for Jicoln's history, and Mako had made the connection from the name Cadera. _I don't believe in coincidences._ "His son happen to be named Torian?" Bel'anna asked.

"Done your homework, then," the Commander said. "Yeah, Torian. Showed a lot of promise in spite of his heritage. It was a shame to lose him so soon."

"Doesn't surprise me, considering how the other Mandalorians treated him on Drommund Kaas." She frowned. "He's not a member of your clan, is he?"

"No," the Commander sliced his hand through the air. "After the traitors were crushed, the remnants of their clans were brought back into the fold. Children mostly. Torian was one so fortunate. He returned just a short while ago from a successful hunt on Drommund Kaas, then went missing in action while scouting a nearby Republic colony. Torian was assumed killed or captured by the enemy, though I can't discount the possibility that the traitor was involved."

"Republic colony, huh?" Bel'anna said. "Sounds like a solid lead. Got coordinates?"

"Sure." The Captain crossed his arms. "A search of the area couldn't hurt. If nothing else, wiping out the colony could earn you a tidy sum. The Imperials want a slaughter, and they're offering credits for Tarisian bodies."

Bel'anna's face instinctively twitched in disgust. "I'm not accustomed to slaughtering unarmed civilians, Commander."

He shrugged. "They're not settlers, if that's what you think. Republic military is setting up operations for future settlement. Anyway, it's your choice if you want the credits. I'll have them waiting if you earn them."

Another Mandalorian came in and saluted the commander. "Reports on the Cathar, sir." Bel'anna took that as her cue to exit, and the commander nodded her out.

* * *

When Bel'anna and Gault reached the coordinates given to her by the Mandalorian commander, she found a small cave. It was guarded by two Republic troopers, but some well-aimed rail shots took them out before they saw her. She stepped past their bodies and used her helmet's targeting computer to identify other guards before her own eyes would have picked them out. One by one, they fell to her arsenal without even pulling out the big guns.

When the initially narrow tunnel opened up, she finally saw the settlement she'd been expecting: computer terminals, a makeshift platform of operations, and more Republic military.

"Okay Gault," she said through the robotic voice of her helmet. "The time for stealth is over. I take the main base; you get the perimeter guard."

"Eh, wasn't planning on living forever anyway."

Bel'anna didn't wait before jet-packing straight into the person who looked like the commanding officer. He'd barely turned around when she bouldered into him and smashed him into the nearest computer console. The monitor fractured and he yowled. Unsure if she'd need him alive, she pulled out her blaster and shot him in the knee. He screamed in agony and collapsed to the floor.

In the meantime, the first blaster shots had hit her armor. She pulled out her other pistol and aimed at the two nearest targets, knocking their blasters out of their hands before they got off another shot. She counted five soldiers and disarmed them all, injuring all of them in the shoulder, arm, or leg so they wouldn't be tempted to search for their weapons again.

Gault was hollering incoherently as her ran around the perimeter of the room, and he killed the four soldiers that came in on him.

Bel'anna's helmet popped up four more targets and she whirled her blasters around only to pull up short. They were unarmed, in civilian clothing. She kept her blasters out, but the cave fell silent as the shooting stopped.

Gault rushed up beside her. "What are you waiting for, cash up front?"

The woman leading the civilian charge held up her hands and came straight toward Bel'anna. "Please don't kill us! We aren't armed!"

Bel'anna glanced around the room. She turned her blasters on the soldiers she'd left alive, waving for them to gather in front of her. They hobbled next to their captain, who was on his side with his shattered knee. With everyone gathered in front of her, Bel'anna holstered her left blaster and lowered her right. "I'm looking for a Mandalorian named Torian Cadera."

"I—I don't—" the civilian blubbered and looked to her comrades. "Anyone know what she's talking about?"

The captain said, "They don't have what you want. They've been hiding in here since the Imperial transports hit the ground. Let them go and I'll tell you what you want to know."

Bel'anna nodded at the colonists. "I have no problem with you. Get out." They scrambled together and ran for the cave entrance.

The captain sighed, half with relief and half with pain. "We haven't made contact with any Mandalorian troops, but we have been dealing with sniper attacks the last few weeks. I'm certain the sniper's been taking shelter in an old excavation site nearby. Everyone I've sent to investigate has turned up dead." He winced, then held up his hand. "That's all I know about it. Will you let us live?"

Bel'anna narrowed her eyes behind her helmet, but finally holstered her other blaster. "Fine. Give me the coordinates of the site, and I'll go."


	4. Torian

After Bel'anna checked back in with the Mandalorian base camp and collected her bounty for the colony's destruction, she headed out for the excavation site. It was swarming with Rakghouls, which she was starting to think were more disgusting than any creature she'd encountered so far—including Hutts. They slowed her down constantly, chasing after her even when she flew by on speeder, and she used them for target practice with her off-hand.

When she and Gault reached the site mentioned by the Republic captain, it was abandoned. The steel flooring clanged with her bootfalls. She pulled out her blasters, ready for an ambush.

A rakghoul's growl reverberated off the slime-covered walls. She tensed, waiting for her helmet to light up with the target. A moment later, the creature came crawling around a corner, and she shot it through the eye.

She and Gault killed three more of the creatures as they explored, but no sentient beings haunted the structure. They reached the end of the site and saw no clues that could lead them to Jicoln or his son.

Gault said, "I don't like this—"

A blaster slid out of a holster behind her. "Thought you'd be harder to get the drop on."

She recognized the voice, and a moment later she smiled as she realized who it was. "I was just eager to see you again after Drommund Kaas." She turned to see Torian, with his unforgettable scars, scruffy blond hair, and look of complete shock.

"You—what?" His pistol lowered. Bel'anna took her opportunity to grab his blaster with one hand and press her other hand against his shoulder. She flipped him head-over-heels onto his back. She pointed Torian's own blaster at his chest as she kicked him in the breastplate for good measure. He grunted loudly as soon as his breath came back to him.

"Time to tell me what you're doing out here," Bel'anna said, her brows lowered.

Torian grunted. "Ow…I deserve that." After a moment, Bel'anna stepped back and lowered the blaster, signaling for Torian to stand up.

Gault snorted. "You must like him—if I tried that, I'd be wearing my face on the back wall."

Bel'anna shot him a glare. "You still might." Gault raised his hands in defense.

"So if you're not here for me," Torian said. "Who, then?"

Bel'anna paused. "You don't want to know."

Torian grimaced. "The traitor." Bel'anna's eyes squinted, then she nodded. "I'm looking too," Torian said, "but not for a reunion; to reclaim my clan's honor."

Bel'anna quirked an eyebrow. "If it's honor you want, it's honor you'll get. Maybe we're better off joining forces than pulling blasters on each other."

"I promise you, I can find him. I already know where to start. Someone's put up dew collectors, beast traps, around an old transport station. Have to be the traitor's."

"If he's been here for the long haul, he's not exactly gonna make supply runs," Bel'anna nodded. After a moment of hesitation, she flipped Torian's blaster in her hand and passed it back to him. "Smart."

Torian nodded and holstered his weapon. "I've only found one entrance into the station. It's thick with rakghouls. Risky. Got a way to throw off rakghouls, but I'll need help. Materials."

"Done," Bel'anna said. "You got a list?"

"Fresh rakghoul bodily fluids," Torian said immediately, and Bel'anna's face twitched in quickly-repressed disgust. Torian continued, "Blood and waste—and a decomposing rakghoul at least a week old. Check these waypoints," he said, pulling out a datapad that Bel'anna quickly scanned for a chart of the territory. "We can rendezvous at the transport station."

* * *

Getting the supplies Torian requested was both the easiest and the most disgusting job Bel'anna had had in a while. Gault whined the entire time, but his commentary distracted her from her own revulsion as she dragged what she needed into her speeder's rear compartment.

Within an hour, they'd reached the transport station. Like everything else on Taris, it was shabby, rusting, and disused. She and Gault maneuvered their speeders straight through the front doors, dismounting when they saw Torian kneeling down a short distance ahead.

"Hey," Torian said before he'd even turned around. "Smelled you coming."

"Just gives me an excuse to polish my armor more thoroughly when I'm off this planet," Bel'anna said. "Here's what you asked for." She handed over the case of rakghoul filth.

"Perfect," Torian said. "This will just take a moment."

He didn't so much as flinch when the case opened and a fresh wave of stench buffeted the air. Thankfully, Bel'anna's helmet filtered much of the scent, but Torian worked quickly. Within a few minutes, he had a pile of thick, disgusting paste.

"This stuff will throw a rakghoul off my trail," he said, already spreading the lumpy brown compound onto his armor. "But in their den? Keep your blaster ready."

"I always do," Bel'anna said, her fingers unconsciously twitching for the holsters.

"I'll have your back," Torian said. He gestured for her to join him. "Smear it thick. If the fumes put the rakghouls out, we might sneak through."

Gault immediately said, "Oh no no no, I am not getting that…whatever, all over—this is my best shirt!"

Torian shrugged. "Nice knowing ya, di'kut."

Gault protested, "Wait wait wait! Ugh, just do it. Now I'm going to have to burn these."

They all joined in, and soon they looked like they'd rolled in the stuff. Bel'anna wiped the excess off her gloves so she wouldn't work it into her blasters, then pulled out her weapons. She didn't glance at her companions as she stalked further into the station.

The first time her targeting sensor lit up a rakghoul, it took all of her restraint not to shoot. She inched forward, sidling along the length of a wall opposite the mindless creature. It slobbered and clawed at the wall, then stood still. It turned its head toward her, and she stopped. Her fingers gripped the trigger guards so tightly she thought the durasteel might bend. Then the rakghoul resumed its foraging along the moldy wall.

Bel'anna resumed her march without relaxing. From then on, the rakghouls only multiplied and thickened. As long as they could keep a short distance, the rakghouls' poor eyesight and addled minds prevented them from attacking. But when a passage was so clogged with the creatures that Bel'anna would have had to wade through the writhing bodies, she signaled Torian and Gault to stay back. She launched herself into the air on her jet-pack, then set the entire mob ablaze with her flame-thrower. Once their gargled cries ricocheted off the walls, she finished them off with blaster shots to the eyes.

She landed, and glanced at her companions to be sure they hadn't found more trouble. "That'll alert the other beasts to our presence. We'd better keep moving."

Torian's eyebrows lowered. "Sixteen rakghouls in ten seconds. Knew Mandalore had to honor you for a reason."

"Yeah, well I earn my respect," Bel'anna said. "So let's get some more honor, huh Mandalorian?"

"Right behind you."

"I'd just like to get out of here with my limbs intact," Gault muttered. "You two can have all the glory you want."

Bel'anna had to take out another dozen rakghouls before they made it to a sealed door at the end of the transport station. "I've got a bad feeling about this…" Gault muttered, but Bel'anna ignored him and glanced at Torian for guidance.

"It's been a while," he muttered. Then, out of nowhere, he slammed his hands over his ears and cried out. "Agh! Hear that?"

Bel'anna stopped moving, stopped breathing, and monitored her helmet's sensors, but nothing abnormal reached her ears. "Nothing?" Torian blurted when she shook her head.

The next moment, the ground began to shake, and Torian screamed, "TRAP!" Next thing, his blaster rifle was in shooting position and he was aiming for the other end of the passage they'd just come through. Bel'anna took up position beside him, both pistols ready as her legs tensed to leap into the air.

"I hate always being right…" Gault muttered as he pulled out his own blasters.

The rakghouls swarmed. Every rakghoul they'd passed harmlessly to get in, every rakghoul they hadn't seen, every rakghoul within the confines of the station hurled over each other in an undulating avalanche of diseased flesh. They clogged the passage, some unheard alarm propelling them toward the doors. Bel'anna grit her teeth as her helmet registered the number of oncoming hostiles: fifty-four.

She holstered one pistol to reach for her belt and grab a handful of micro-grenades. She hurled them into the middle of the swarm, and with a silent command from her helmet she detonated all ten of them. The wave exploded outward, killing sixteen of the rakghouls and neutralizing another eight.

By then, the front line of rakghouls was almost upon them, but Gault and Torian hadn't been sitting idly. Torian fired rhythmically, the blaster shots pulsing in a steady beat as he went down the line. Meanwhile, Gault screamed, "Come at me, you filth-covered freaks! How do you like the taste of blaster fire, huh? Get away from me, that's disgusting!" His blaster shots were sporadic and ricocheted as fast as he could pull the triggers.

Bel'anna rotated the gauntlet on her wrist to lock in the electro darts, then fired them into the densest clumps of rakghouls. The electricity stunned the targets she hit, then spread to the monsters still in contact with the target. She switched to blasters and ended the writhing creatures before the darts lost power.

 _Twelve to go._

The surviving rakghouls clamored over the corpses of their brethren and leapt at Bel'anna and her comrades. She hadn't even noticed him switch weapons, but Torian brought out an electrostaff and bashed the first rakghoul so hard she heard the crunch of skull even through her helmet. Before a beast could reach her, she leapt into the air. She targeted a group of four beasts below her and ran her blasters from side to side, unleashing a hail of bolts until they all crumpled. When another rakghoul came beneath her and tried to grab onto her boot, she reversed the jet pack and punched her feet into it with enough force to crack the floor.

Gault had killed one beast, but another one was on top of him. He had both hands pressed to the monster's face, keeping its jaws apart so it couldn't bite him, but its back legs were latched onto his stomach and its hands clawed at him. Bel'anna blasted it six times through the head just to be sure.

She turned to see which beasts remained, but Torian stood panting in a pile of corpses. His staff was thick with gore, his jaw clenched as he looked down upon his final foe.

"Blast blast blast blast—does this look infected to you?" Gault said, holding out his hand where the rakghoul had scratched him. Bel'anna hesitated, then holstered her pistols and took out a medical scanner.

"No foreign agents detected," she announced, then took out a kolto vial and stabbed it into his arm.

He howled. "Was that really necessary?"

"You want it sealed or not?"

"K'atini," Torian said. When Bel'anna and Gault stared at him, he said, "It's only pain."

"Easy for you to say," Gault muttered. "You didn't—"

The doors that had barred their path suddenly creaked to life. They turned to see the metal panels sliding into the walls, revealing a small control room beyond. A holoterminal occupied the center of the floor, and a blue hologram was projected above it.

"So, is Artus finally sending children to do his dirty work?" Jicoln said. He was built like a mining droid and armored like one too. He had no hair on the top of his head, but a thick beard. His face was painted with violent streaks of paint. "Run home now, and tell Mandalore if he wants my head, he should come take it himself."

Bel'anna was tempted to pull her blasters out then and there, but she stormed forward. "You going to face me like a warrior, or make me chase you all over Taris?"

Jicoln smiled slightly. "Think real hard, girl, before you go issuing challenges you might regret. I will tell you what I told the others. You survived. You have earned the right to the Garoya be Haren. If you lose, however, I will kill you." He pulled out a hand-held comm. "I'll be waiting at these coordinates. Then we'll see who hunts whom."

The holo-image disappeared, and Gault immediately turned to Torian and said, "He's a real nice guy, your dad."

Bel'anna leaned forward to see the coordinates coming up on the terminal console, copying them into her helmet's database.

Torian frowned. "He's toying with us. But the Garoya be Haren gives us an opening. It's a Mandalorian death game."

"My favorite kind," Bel'anna said. "So what, I meet him at the coordinates and fight to the death?"

Torian shook his head, then swung his electrostaff over his shoulder and hooked it onto a holster on his back. "There are four parts: alii'aate, personal honors; Yai'me'stuum, the homeworld; the Sterebiise, who defends a legacy; and the Naast, who destroys it." He held up his hands. "He will place honors, prized possessions, around a battlefield. You will try to take them. If you take all of them, then you must take his home."

"OK, I'll bite," Bel'anna said. "So these coordinates are for the first honor?"

Torian shook his head again. "The coordinates are there for you to accept the challenge. It's a war game—Mandalorian tradition. And it gets us close to him. I'll scout for Jicoln's honors while you go to face him. Then while you run the game, I'll find his home. Call me when you've made your challenge."

"Sounds to me like you're doing all the work in this Garoya be Haren—shouldn't I be the one doing the hunting?" Bel'anna said.

Torian's eyebrows quirked upward. "Yes, you should—but you'd be better off saving your energy for the real fight."

Bel'anna's jaw tensed, but she nodded. "You know what to look for, and it saves me time getting the target. Go ahead." She turned back toward the passage flooded with rakghoul gore and trudged through the corpses.

"Oh, you really know how to show a man a good time…" Gault muttered as he followed.


	5. Garoya Be Haren

Bel'anna mounted her speeder, not waiting to see if Gault followed, and shot into the jungle. She barely felt the wind leaking through the cracks in her armor. She hunched over the bike and jetted through the marshes. Once she took a shot at a lone rakghoul and nailed it in the throat.

Her helmet tracked her progress to the coordinates Jicoln had given her. She slowed her speeder down beside what might have once been a towering structure, but had collapsed into the swamp. A platform was visible higher up a moldering hill, and she hiked the short distance to it. She found a transmitter station that blinked red, but she couldn't immediately identify its purpose.

She pulled out her holo and contacted Torian. When his image appeared, she said, "I'm at the coordinates. No sign of Jicoln—just some sort of marker."

Torian's image shook its head. "Not good…"

The next moment, a blaster bolt crashed into the holocommunicator, blowing it out of Bel'anna's hand. The shock knocked her backwards, and she crashed to the ground.

"Hey—hey!" Gault rushed over to her. "If you want me to steal your ship and run, then just lie still and don't move."

Bel'anna grit her teeth and sat up, anger sending the blood rushing to her face. The bolt had definitely come from a downward angle, from the east as she could recognize it on this planet, which pointed to the abandoned structure hulking on the hillside. She shoved herself to her feet and examined the hand that had been shot; a few scorch marks on her armor, maybe leaving a bruise from the impact, but the bolt hadn't gotten through the durasteel. The transmitter station sparked, and she flinched away, ready to activate her jet pack in case of an explosion, but it puttered out.

The holocommunicator pinged from where it had landed several feet away, and Bel'anna rushed to pick it up. She gestured at Gault, and they both hunkered down behind the fried satellite base for cover.

Torian's image flickered above the disk. "You okay?" he said in a panic. "What happ—" He cut out, and suddenly his image was replaced with Jicoln's.

"Challenge accepted."

"That was a cheap shot, Jicoln!" Bel'anna shouted.

The image changed from Jicoln to Torian as she spat out the last word. "Transmission cut out," Torian said. "What happened?"

"Your dad's sniping us down, that's what!" Gault said. "Didn't even show his face."

"Dar'manda," Torian cursed. "Ni'duraan…. Ni'enteyor'gratiir…" He grit his teeth and ceased his mumbling. "We'll get him. I'm transmitting the coordinates to the traitor's honors—should be all of them. I'll contact you when I've found his bolt hole. Torian out."

With a snap of her wrist, Bel'anna clipped the comm back into her belt and returned to her speeder, wary that her helmet may not be able to pick up Jicoln's heat signature. Gault grumbled the whole way down, but he hopped on his own speeder after her.

Gunning the speed on the vehicle, she made it to the first coordinate in a matter of minutes. Torian even sent holo-images of the containers they were in, so she spotted the first honor as soon as she dismounted.

When she opened the cylinder, she was surprised to see a humanoid skull. It was clean and well-preserved, clearly coated in a plastic-like substance to protect it from damage.

"Oh, that is disgusting," Gault staggered back. "Why would anyone keep _that_?"

Bel'anna lifted the skull out of the cylinder. It wasn't human, she knew that much. It had strong brow ridges and strange grooves along the jawline. She could imagine the formidable face it once wore, and knew exactly what race it belonged to: Sith. For Jicoln to have taken such care to preserve the trophy, it must have been won in a mighty battle indeed. _Even I would've liked to see him take down a Sith warrior—although I'd prefer to win the honor myself._

An explosive force slammed into her back and sent her reeling forward. She screamed as she face-planted in the swamp, rolling to prevent crushing the skull under her body. Her blaster was out of its holster before she even sat up, aiming for the direction of the shot.

"Blazes, this guy doesn't let up!" Gault said as he took out his own blasters and crouched behind a tree.

Her eyes flicked for the slightest movement. A bird took flight, and she shot it down before realizing it wasn't her foe. She launched a spread of rockets across the structure that had to be sheltering Jicoln. She hunkered down behind a scrap of metal and waited for the four explosions to sound. After they did, she scanned for movement once more, yet saw none.

She didn't hang around. Bel'anna placed the skull back in the cylinder and hooked it onto her speeder, pelting through the swamp to the next set of coordinates given to her by Torian. As she flew, he called.

"Found the traitor's bolt-hole. Wreckage. Crashed ship. The _Endar Spire_."

"Got it," she clipped. "You should be able to hear Jicoln's panicked screams from there, but in case you don't, I'll contact you when he's on the run."

"Keep the pressure on; I'll start laying a trap," Torian said. "I'll call when everything's in position."

The next honor was a small object that she did not understand the significance of: two twisted bands of rope, made of a fiber that was stronger than she'd seen before, intricately woven together until she could not tell one from the other. She slipped it into the canister with the skull.

Once more, she was shot in the back, despite her precautions to scout the area and find a defensible position. After a minute without movement, she moved to the last coordinate.

The final honor was a sword unlike any she'd ever seen. Clearly meant to be wielded with two hands, and even then only by those with brutish strength, it had three blades that extended outward from the core. A skull adorned the pommel. Swords were so outdated in much of the galaxy that Bel'anna had never wielded one herself. Because of Jicoln's obvious proficiency with blasters, she was sure the weapon was more ceremonial than useful, but it would be deadly nonetheless.

She expected the shot to her back, but the bolt finally pierced her armor. Searing heat tore across her right side, and her legs buckled. She launched rockets in the direction of the attack, and used the fire to cover her as she bolted onto her speeder.

Pressing her arm to her side, she clutched her holocommunicator. "Torian, is that trap ready yet?" she spat.

"No," Torian said. "And the traitor's on his way back."

She grit her teeth. "I'm on my way."

"He's changing strategy. You're winning; he's coming aboard to find his stronghold. Transmitting location. I'll do what I can. Hurry."

As she mounted her speeder, she gave herself a shot of kolto. Gault asked if she needed anything, and she said, "Just keep your eyes open and your blasters out, okay?" The kolto instantly numbed the wound and started sealing it, even though the heat from the shot had probably cauterized it on impact. She wove her way through the jungle more slowly so she could maintain pressure on the wound.

A hulking shape loomed out of the horizon. Just as Torian had said, it was a crashed ship—an Imperial battle cruiser, no less. By the time she dismounted, the kolto had sealed her injury enough that she didn't need to slow down.

Sixteen rakghouls crossed her path, but they only came at her a few at a time, so they were easy to dispatch. She worked her way through the wreckage with both pistols drawn, scanning for traps. She caught splatters of blood, still wet, glistening along the metal, but she didn't see a source. _Probably a wounded rakghoul._ Gault followed close behind, but her blasters took care of everything without him having to fire a shot.

Crawling over a caved-in bulkhead, she emerged into a wide chamber that might have once been a mess hall. At the far end lay Torian, clearly injured with his hand wrapped around his torso. His eyelids fluttered like he was barley maintaining consciousness.

"Torian!" Bel'anna shouted, and ran up to him. "Where's Jicoln?"

"Got cocky," Torian said, rolling onto his side while pressing his hand to the wound. "He's tricky. Electo-net put him down, but—used it to cook off his munition cache. He's running; don't let the trail go cold." He grit his teeth and groaned.

Bel'anna knelt down beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. He was covering the worst of the damage, but blood smeared his armor, and it had clearly been blasted open around his ribcage. "Better the trail goes cold than you."

"I'll be fine!" Torian bit through the pain. "Just get him! He's hurt, bleeding, running. Deep tracks, bloody mud, straight lines even you could follow." A smile flickered across his cheeks.

"And they'll stay there until I get you fixed up," Bel'anna said. "This isn't up for discussion; we're finishing this together."

"So close…" Torian said, and then he lost consciousness.

When he collapsed, his arm fell away from his side. Gault gagged as Torian's wound was revealed. The blast had ripped away a piece of armor the size of a rakghoul's head. Three large pieces of shrapnel pierced his side, with several smaller ones embedded underneath slick pools of blood.

"Don't just sit there looking at it," Gault whined. "Give him the kolto already."

"Kolto doesn't remove biranium munition casings," Bel'anna snapped back. She readied the kolto injection and set it on the floor beside Torian. She was glad for his sake that he'd lost consciousness; this wasn't going to be pretty.

She removed her helmet, whose display would only get in her way now that she knew where the damage lay. Her long white hair was slick with sweat, but none of it fell into her face because of her tight restraint on it. She tore off her gloves so she'd be able to grip the pieces better, then started with the smallest pieces she could find. She tossed them aside as blood slicked her fingers. The first of the large pieces slid clean from his side without hitting any ribs. As blood gurgled to the surface, she stuck the kolto needle directly into the wound. The flow of blood slowed, and she watched as the kolto stimulated the platelets into clotting over the cut. Within a few seconds, the wound had sealed.

She repeated the process for each piece of shrapnel, careful to watch that he didn't lose too much blood as the kolto worked. After all of the injuries sealed, she set a kolto inhaler over his mouth and nose so the medicine would work its way through his whole body and sustain the healing.

 _He would have died if I'd left_.

Exhaling deeply after her work was done, she ordered Gault to get water and bandages from her speeder. Kolto worked miracles, but the injury still needed to be cleaned and bound.

While Gault begrudgingly worked his way through the wreckage, Bel'anna removed Torian's now-ruined armor from his chest. His undershirt was soaked with blood, and she tore along the existing hole to rip it away from his torso. She used the black fabric to soak up the excess blood, wondering if she should give him another kolto shot before she left.

His ribcage expanded as he took a deep breath, stretching the thin skin along his ribs. She hadn't realized he'd regained consciousness until he flinched and tried sitting up. She firmly planted her hand on his chest to keep him down, leaving a bloody handprint on his sternum.

"The kolto's treated most of the major damage," she said calmly. "You had shrapnel that needed to be removed, so you'd better keep an eye out in case I missed any that got embedded below the surface."

He tilted his chin to look down at the wounds, running a cautious hand over the sticky blood. "Should have left me. You've given the traitor too much time."

"You're welcome, by the way," Bel'anna grumbled.

Gault came in at that moment and said, "Whoa, am I interrupting something here?" Bel'anna rolled her eyes and peeled her sticky hand away from Torian's chest. She turned to see Gault's amused expression. Wordlessly, she extended her hand for the supplies he'd brought, and proceeded to clean and bind the wound.

"Sorry…thanks," Torian said. She glanced at his face and noticed he was blushing—probably from trying to sit up too fast, she assumed. It made the scars on his cheeks seem white in comparison. "The traitor sacrificed his stockpile to escape. He'll be scavenging now. Most likely, he'll steal from nearby outposts."

Bel'anna contemplated this as she sprayed a kolto seal over the raw skin. It hardened into a platic-like surface meant to keep the wounds from re-opening. She proceeded to bind his ribs with bandages, though, just in case. "We'll need to get you to the nearest Imperial outpost," she said as she shifted him upright to finish the binding.

He sat up and tried not to wince, but she saw his jaw flex. "Right," he breathed. "So I can replace my armor."

"No, so you can let your wounds finish healing and stay out of my way."

Torian's eyes turned to blue fire as he looked at her. "You're not leaving me behind. A few more shots of kolto and I'll be ready to kill a manka cat with my bare hands."

"Why in the name of all that is good would you do that?" Gault protested. For a moment, Bel'anna had forgotten he was there. "Not just the manka cat business, although I hear their teeth are rather valuable…but the risking your life to kill your dad. You've got the galaxy's finest bounty hunter on the job and you don't even have to pay her!"

Both Torian and Bel'anna turned to glare at Gault. "Kaysh mirsh solus," Torian muttered, then looked back at Bel'anna. "Ni'parjir ner b'aliit ijaat. I will reclaim my clan's honor."

After another moment of eye-contact, Bel'anna knew she'd have to knock him unconscious to keep him out of it. She wasn't willing to do that, since she knew she'd fight well enough for herself in his condition, and she'd already been impressed with his fighting skills against the rakghouls. She shifted onto the balls of her feet and extended her hand. Torian clasped her forearm, and she pulled him up.

It wasn't until then that she realized how ridiculous he looked, bare-chested on top and fully-armored on bottom. Even with his battle wounds and her bloody handprint, she thought he looked like a soldier caught off-guard in the middle of the night. She coughed to disguise the smile that itched at her face, turning to find her helmet and gloves.

"Ni'cuyir di'kut ures ner beskar'gam," he muttered, but her pride prevented her from asking what he meant. "We should update our tactical maps at an Imperial outpost. Then search for signs of the traitor at outposts nearby."

"Fine by me," she said. "You have a speeder outside?"

He nodded, shaking his hair into his eyes. He winced, and he muttered to himself, "K'atini."

She took the lead, shooting down the few rakghouls stupid enough to walk in her path. Her own injury still twinged, but compared to Torian she was sure she felt blissfully healthy. She kept an eye on Torian, who kept pressure on his wound even as he tried to walk with his shoulders back. He pointed to the trail of blood, now congealing, that she'd seen coming in. Once out of the wreckage, the blood trail mixed with furrows in the swamp.

"He's heading east," he said. "The Imperial Outpost, like I said."

"Then let's catch up," Bel'anna growled, donning her helmet.

Once Torian retrieved his speeder from a short distance away, they shot into the marshland toward the outpost. Jicoln's footprints disappeared, but Bel'anna still caught globs of blood that must have fallen as he took his own speeder to the outpost. A gash in a tree showed where his clumsy piloting had only added to his injuries.

They reached the outpost without visual contact of the target, but as soon as Torian dismounted, he pointed to a supply bunker. Bel'anna nodded and led the way. She flashed her IPKC—Imperial Peacekeeping Certificate—to the Imperial agent at the guard post, and he begrudgingly let her and her companions in.

She immediately saw the black lines at the rear of the bunker where Jicoln had cut his way in. He'd replaced the piece he'd cut away so it wouldn't be obvious to the casual observer, but it was clear that was how he'd snuck in.

"Someone ransacked the stores here," Torian said, pointing out gaps in the containers where energy cells and food were missing.

"Let's requisition you some new armor," Bel'anna said. "Then we'll pick up the trail."

It took them several minutes too long to find a vendor with armor that wasn't made of weak Imperial cloth. Torian frowned at the low-grade durasteel and the clumsy fit, but he said, "Will stop a blaster shot. Let's move."

From there, they picked up Jicoln's trail again. Although Bel'anna's helmet could pick up the low-level heat signatures of Jicoln's blood, Torian's eyes were keener. He stopped them a couple times, usually close to other camps and outposts, to point out where his father had changed direction or tactic. After a few stops in populated areas, Jicoln's trail led out to what apparently used to be an industrial site. Some of the factory pipes were still steaming—even if the steam was green.

Torian slowed and dismounted his speeder, and Bel'anna followed suit. He squinted at the ground near one of the pipes. "Trail doubles back on itself…" He shook his head.

"Take your time," Bel'anna breathed.

"He's close…" Torian said, then suddenly he looked up. The next moment, he shoved against Bel'anna's chest and shouted, "DOWN!" A blaster shot narrowly missed Bel'anna's helmet as she crashed to the ground.

The impact knocked the air from her lungs, and it was several seconds before she was able to fill them again. As soon as she could, she rolled to her feet.

Jicoln strut forward from behind the nearest pipeline. Although he stood proudly, she could see the mismatched armor on his chest that meant he'd been just as injured in the explosion as Torian had. Blood seeped between two of the metal plates.

"You two are good," he growled. "Real good. Even Artus never gave me this much of a run."

Torian stepped forward, unclipping the electrostaff from his back. His face contorted in rage. "His name is Mandalore."

"I know what he calls himself, _boy_ ," Jicoln spat. "I was there."

Bel'anna reached out an arm and touched Torian's chest plate. She looked him hard in the eye. "Calm, Torian," she whispered, but Jicoln caught the name.

"Torian?" he said, his eyebrows coming together. He stepped back, shaking his head. His voice broke as he said, "No—you can't be. Artus swore he'd slaughter my boy at his mother's breast. He swore it when he left me here."

"Sometimes, I wish he had," Torian spat.

"It's really you," Jicoln said, the shock on his face replaced by resigned sorrow. "Artus knows how to put the crowning irony on a vendetta."

"Mandalore didn't send him," Bel'anna objected. "Torian is doing this for himself."

"But does he know why?" Jicoln looked at Torian with his eyebrows drawn together.

Torian's blaster was out in a breath. "You stripped our clan of its honor!" he shouted as he pointed the barrel at his father's head. "Today, I'm taking it back!"

Three blasters shot almost simultaneously. Torian narrowly missed his father's face as Jicoln ducked sideways. Jicoln fired his rifle toward Bel'anna, but his focus on Torian made him miss her right shoulder. Bel'anna, however, nailed her shot into the bloody spot in Jicoln's armor. He howled as the impact sent a fresh spurt of blood through the cracks, and he turned away from his son entirely.

Bel'anna's chest absorbed Jicoln's first shot, and she aimed for his exposed face. The blast knocked her back harder than she'd anticipated, though, and her shot just grazed his cheek. Jicoln roared as the bolt burned his flesh, and he rolled behind a nearby wall.

Torian holstered his blaster and activated his electrostaff, which crackled with energy. He charged at the wall his father hid behind, but Jicoln emerged a moment later with his helmet on. As Torian swung the staff back, Jicoln caught him in the ribs with the butt of his rifle, right where Torian had been injured. Torian buckled.

In the meantime, Bel'anna shouted to Gault, "Pin him down!" Gault fired wildly around Jicoln so he wouldn't be able to run. Bel'anna hunched forward and activated her jet pack so she rocketed straight into Jicoln's chest.

Jicoln's body slammed into the factory wall, which creaked under the pressure. She landed, her grip tight on the misfitting armor, and aimed her laser cutter at Jicoln's throat—right where his helmet left him exposed.

A knife jutted into Bel'anna's hip, and she screamed. Her weight unsupported, she stumbled before activating her jet pack to keep her upright.

It was then that Torian came smashing in with his electrostaff, slamming the end straight into Jicoln's temple. Electricity rippled across Jicoln's armor, and he jerked. His helmet crumpled, and he struggled to get it off his head. His forehead bled from where the metal had caved in against his skull, and his cheek was still raw from the blaster burn.

Jicoln grunted and collapsed to his knees. Bel'anna hovered just above the ground and held her blaster to his face. "Just do it!" Jicoln yelled through grit teeth.

She glanced at Torian. _This isn't my kill to make._

"Liser gar su jorhaa'ir haar joha, dar'manda?" Torian said, bringing his blaster to his father's head. "Ib'tuur gar dar'buir balyc."

"Me'ven? Ner…ner ad? Oyayc?" Jicoln said, his eyes wide as he looked past Torian's blaster to his eyes. He glanced at Bel'anna. "I have a last request, hunter. I want a moment to speak with my—my son."

Bel'anna hesitated, then glanced at Torian, whose face hardened. She relaxed her trigger finger and lowered the pistol. "I'll let Torian make that decision," she said, gently pushing her jet pack backwards. "I'll wait."

"You've got no business carrying your name like a mark of shame," Jicoln said, and then his voice faded as blood rushed to Bel'anna's ears.

She turned back to where Gault stood several yards away, his pistols still aimed at Jicoln. "You're not telling me we're letting this bounty go," Gault said, shaking his head. "Nuh-uh."

She deactivated her jet-pack, trying to land on her right leg but still getting a jolt of pain from the knife in her hip. She pointed to it, and Gault immediately sobered up. "Right. Kolto, coming right up."

Once he'd readied the injection, she slid the knife from her hip. It scraped against bone, and she bit down hard to avoid screaming. As the blood welled up and spilled over her armor, Gault slid the kolto needle into the wound. She pressed down hard on the spot to slow the bleeding. The warmth from the blood was replaced by a chill as the kolto took effect. The pain ebbed, and she turned back to look at the father and son. Torian had knelt next to his father, who was talking quietly as his wounds bled. Torian, too, clutched at his ribcage, but his expression was difficult to read. Confused. Pained.

Once she felt the blood stop pulsing to the surface of her hip, she sealed the wound with a kolto spray and gave herself another injection. The pain disappeared almost entirely, replaced with tingling cold.

Her wound taken care of, she limped back to her target. He was saying, "I fought a righteous battle. You'll never get me to admit otherwise."

"I understand," Torian said, and his face didn't hold the same rage it had before.

"Take my head to 'Mandalore' if you're gonna. I'm tired," Jicoln said.

"This is your call, Torian," Bel'anna said.

"Gar taldin ni jaonyc, gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la," Jicoln said.

"I'll do our name proud." Torian's face hardened. "I'm sorry." He lifted his blaster and swiftly sent a bolt through his father's skull. He stood and turned to Bel'anna, but didn't meet her gaze. "That…wasn't what I expected," he whispered.

"What did he say?" Bel'anna said.

"Nothing I didn't already know," Torian said. "Just…differently told." He paused, then finally looked up at her. "I want to be alone. It's been an honor."

* * *

 **Mando'a translations:**

 **Dar'manda:** Traitor, outcast

 **Ni'duraan...** I look down upon...

 **Ni'enteyor'gratiir...** I must avenge...

 **Kaysh mirsh solus.** He's an idiot.

 **Ni'parjir ner b'aliit ijaat.** I will reclaim my clan's armor.

 **Ni'cuyir di'kut ures ner beskar'gam.** I look like an idiot without my armor.

 **K'atini:** Suck it up/it's only pain

 **Liser gar su jorhaa'ir haar joha, dar'manda?** Can you still speak the language, traitor?

 **Ib'tuur gar dar'buir balyc.** Today you have lost me as a child.

 **Me'ven? Ner…ner ad? Oyayc?** What? My…my son? Alive?

 **Gar taldin ni jaonyc, gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la.** Nobody cares who your father was, only the father you'll be.


	6. Bounty Acquired

After Torian left, Bel'anna and Gault prepped the body for transport, used a tractor beam to latch it to the speeders, and sped back to her ship. Once Jicoln was loaded in the cargo bay, she marched up the steps of the _Mantis_ and told Mako to make the call.

Three hunters appeared over the holo-Bloodworthy, Nightbringer, and the Defenestrator. Bloodworthy said, "Glad to see you're still alive—you've been out there a while."

Jew'la Nightbringer bit back a smile. "Really didn't wanna come back empty-handed, did you?"

"Calling it quits?" Bloodworthy said, his eyes flicking to Jew'la's. "No shame in bowing out after a good fight."

Bel'anna couldn't help but jut her chin up as she crossed her arms. "The pot's mine, Bloodworthy. Body's in the cargo bay. Bioscan incoming." She pointed at Mako to upload the necessary files.

The Champions froze, like Manka cats crouching to spring. The Defenestrator pulled out a pad to receive the data, and after a tension-filled moment, said, "These scans match the data I have on file."

Jew'la's painted eyebrows shot up. "You actually caught him?" Then she burst out laughing. "Ha! How do you like that?"

Bloodworthy nodded, looking at Bel'anna with all new appreciation. "Would've been a shame if old age turned out to be the only match for Jicoln Cadera." He shook his head, then pulled out his own data pad. "Transferring your jackpot now."

The Defenestrator said, "Impressive work. Records indicate you are the twenty-eighth hunter to place a stake on that bounty. Twelfth to return." Bel'anna couldn't help but push her shoulders a little further back. A glance at Mako confirmed that the credits were rolling in.

Jew'la's mirth faded, replaced by a jagged edge to her tone that matched the harshness of her features. "Don't look so proud of yourself. You bagged somebody's grandpa. Your lucky streak won't last."

Bel'anna snarled. _Sure-a grandpa that_ you _couldn't bag._ "Care to put your money where your mouth is?"

Jew'la smirked. "Sweetheart, I don't have to."

Bloodworthy cut in before Bel'anna could start threatening one of the few hunters who might actually have an edge on her. "All right, Jew'la, we've all got better things to do than talk trash. I'll make arrangements for the Mandalorians to take Jicoln off your hands. Expect a shuttle shortly. We'll be in touch." The holograms blinked out, and Bel'anna finally started to relax.

It didn't take long for the Mandalorians to make contact. Bel'anna had just changed into lighter armor so that she could clean her heavy duty equipment when her holo pinged. She tagged Gault as she went down the ramp. He grumbled loudly about burning his best clothes, but she dragged him behind her in his second best. She met three Mandalorians in the spaceport dock. To her surprise, Torian was with them, and she nodded in greeting. It was good to see a trustworthy face.

"Burc'ya," the Mandalorian up front said. She recognized his face as the same scum who'd tried to shoo her away from the camp on Drommund Kaas—Jogo, she thought. "Wasting no time earning new honors, I see. We've been sent to collect the traitor from you."

"He's in the cargo bay," Bel'anna said, jutting her thumb over her shoulder toward the ramp. "Gault can take you to him."

"We'll make this quick," the Mandalorian said, and he and one of his companions walked past Bel'anna to her ship.

Torian stepped forward. "Need to ask you a favor, champion." He clearly hadn't had time to clean up; his mismatched armor still looked ridiculous, and he was covered in grime as she still was.

"What is it, Torian?"

"I want to come with you." He straightened his shoulders. "I mean to serve, join your hunts, earn respect for my clan."

"I'm for it!" Gault said, coming out from behind Bel'anna. "Ship's pretty boring when you're off doing your thing." The other Mandalorians carried Jicoln's body between them down the ramp, and Bel'anna moved aside so they could proceed.

"Give me this honor," Torian said. His eyes were fierce, unwavering.

 _I could use a warrior like that any day._ "Of course," Bel'anna said. "I'm flattered. Welcome aboard."

"Thank you," Torian said.

"We're done," Jogo said. "Coming, Torian?"

"Nope."

"Tch," Jogo said. "You can finally show your face, and now you're running off. Try to make something of yourself, arue'tal." He and his companion Marched down the dock.

Torian's expression had hardened. Bel'anna didn't need to speak Mando'a to know that "arue'tal" wasn't a name to be used so jokingly. He looked at her with determination and said. "Ready when you are."

They climbed back on board the _D.S. Mantis_ , and Bel'anna sealed the hatch after them. Gault led the way to the main deck, and Torian and Bel'anna followed him up the stairs. Once on the bridge, Bel'anna got Mako's and C2's attention.

"This is Torian," Bel'anna said. "He'll be joining us, so get properly introduced."

"Always room for one more in my book," Mako said. "I'm Mako."

Gault bowed dramatically, despite having met Torian already. "Gault Rennow, at your service."

"C2-N2, ship's maintenance," the droid chirped.

"Pleasure," Torian said.

"Not much to look at, but it's home," Mako said.

"No complaints," Torian said.

Bel'anna snorted and grinned at Mako. "Remember what it looked like when we stole it?" Mako laughed, and even Torian—after a moment of surprise—gave a thin smile.

"Got me there," Mako said. She gestured to Torian. "Come on—I'll give you the tour." She pointed toward the cockpit, and Bel'anna let her lead him away. While Mako shoed Torian around, Bel'anna finally took the opportunity to shower, then abandoned armor for a short time in favor of simple clothing. In no particular rush to be anywhere, she went to the lower deck to clean her armor.

Just as she was starting on her helmet, Torian came up beside her. Her hands continued to work as she looked up at him. "Mako show you around?"

He nodded. "A good enough base of operations."

"It is. I wasn't thinking about the long-haul when I got it in the first place, but I've grown attached." She examined his appearance, still rough from the long time on Taris. "We'll need to get you some new armor first thing. In the meantime, though, Gault's probably got some clothes to spare. You can clean up, then we'll see that wound again."

His hand went to his side. "Right. Kolto's starting to wear off." He looked down, his hair falling over his eyes. "Thanks for the help on Taris. Decent of you to let me in on the kill. You didn't have to do that."

"It was your kill to make," Bel'anna said, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn bit of rakghoul muck. "You deserved that honor."

"Vor entye," Torian said. "Looking forward to this. Not everyone gets to fight beside the Champion of the Great Hunt."

She smiled, more to herself than to him. "No, they don't."

He started taking off his outer armor and setting it on the workbench next to hers, clearly intending to clean his own as well. "What sort of jobs are coming up? Hunting? Mercenary work?"

"Why—what are you interested in?" Bel'anna said.

"Something hard enough to sharpen myself on," Torian said as his chestplate thunked to the counter. "Been in a few skirmishes, but treaty with the Republic made real fighting scarce. Like to see something worthy."

She smiled and set aside her polished helmet. "Trust me-if there's a worthy fight out there, I'll find it."

"Knew coming with you was a good idea." He unfastened his leg armor and set it on the ground, sighing as he slipped off his boots. Like her, he wore simple black clothes under his armor. "Our people need battle to find out who we are. Mando without war is like a starship without space."

"As is a hunter without a hunt," Bel'anna said. She scrubbed at her chestplate. "Guess we better find you a war, then."

"Looking forward to it."

The sound of their scrubbing synchronized, two warriors falling into routine. The scent of sterile chemicals gradually began to replace the rakghoul filth they'd smeared everywhere. The physical rhythm of cleaning helped clear her thoughts, despite the exhaustion in her muscles and the soreness from her injuries that was starting to ebb through the fading kolto.

Bel'anna was jarred out of cleaning by Mako's voice cracking over the intercom. "Uh…Bel'anna? I have an incoming message."

Bel'anna set down her supplies and pressed the intercom button. "Who is it? You sound shaken"

"It's a Sith Lord," she said. "Says he wants to talk to you right away."

Bel'anna frowned. "Be right up." She shot a glance at Torian, who had also stopped his cleaning to lower his eyebrows in confusion that mirrored her own. When she bound up the stairs, she heard him follow. "Put him through," Bel'anna told Mako. "Probably wants another Sith Lord dead."

The man whose image appeared over the holoterminal was impressive, even by Bel'anna standards. His shoulders were twice as wide as hers, and that was without the bulk of durasteel. Thick black hair covered his jaw and framed his face. The skin she could see was scarred, and a dark tattoo ringed one eye.

"Bel'anna Tor," he said, his voice deep and tinged with the Imperial accent.

Bel'anna stepped forward. "That's right."

"I am Lord Archajel, apprentice to Darth Baras. I have been searching for you. Meet me in Kaas City at once."

Bel'anna raised her eyebrows. "I'm on another job, so you'll have to wait your turn." It wasn't distinctly true, but she was sure the champions were going to contact her within the day with her next task.

"You don't want to put me off," he said. "This concerns your family."

She flinched. "I have no family."

"You did, once," he said. "If you want to know more, meet me in the Nexus Room Cantina in two days." His image blinked out.

* * *

 **Mando'a Translations:**

 **Burc'ya.** Friend.

 **Arue'tal.** Traitor.

 **Vor entye.** Thank you.


	7. Aliit ori'shya tal'din

Returning to the capitol of the Empire hadn't been on Bel'anna's list of things she wanted to do in the near future. _Anything beats Taris_ , she thought to herself.

"I don't trust Sith," Torian said as they strapped their newly polished armor on.

"Good," she said. "Then you're coming with."

"Was hoping you'd say that," he smiled. They'd stopped by the Imperial Fleet to re-equip, and Bel'anna had given Torian access to the money from his father's bounty to get new armor. _After all, he's the one who really earned it,_ she thought.

When they were both ready to go, Mako said, "I've done all the research I can on this Lord Archajel. He may be new on the scene, but he's certainly made his mark across this sector. Koriban, Drommund Kaas, Balmorra, Aldaraan…even Taris. He's working for Darth Baras, who I guess is vying for a spot on the Dark Council." She frowned. "I wouldn't get within lightsaber range if I were you."

"Sith can throw sabers," Bel'anna said. "But I got a new force field generator at the Fleet that should deflect it—at least in time for me to pull out a blaster. I don't think even a Sith can survive a point-blank bolt to the eye."

"Watch your back," Gault said. "Sith hold the worst grudges, let me tell you."

"Who knows," Bel'anna said. "A Sith Lord's lightsaber would make a pretty good trophy, wouldn't you say, Torian?"

"Gar serim," he agreed. "Looks like we're winning honors already."

Bel'anna knew the Nexus Room well enough, having met several contacts there in the past. It was public enough, which meant it would be reckless for Archajel to make an attempt on her life, but Sith had been known to kill for show as much as anything else.

 _I have no family._

 _You did once._

Of all of the obscure things for a Sith Lord to call her about, that had not been what she was expecting. A job, sure. Reminiscing over a family she didn't remember? No.

When she and Torian stepped into the main room of the cantina, her helmet catalogued a hundred and forty-three patrons. None of them were Archajel.

"I got your six," Torian muttered, and she stepped down the ramp toward the central bar. Without revealing her face, most people wouldn't recognize her, but she drew a few glances from her glinting armor.

The bartender saw her and smirked. "You're not here for drinks."

"Lord Archajel," Bel'anna said, the helmet making her voice sound deep and threatening.

His smirk disappeared, and he nodded sideways. "That room. Said he was expecting a bounty hunter."

Bel'anna nodded, glimpsing Torian from the corner of her eye as he watched her back. She strode to the room the bartender had indicated.

Lord Archajel was a daunting figure. He paced across the floor, but stilled as soon as he saw her. His shoulders were as broad as a mining droid's, and he stood a rifle-length taller than Bel'anna. His dark hair hung to his shoulders, and his face was marred both by a red tattoo around one eye and by the deep purple skin around his glowing red eyes. Bel'anna wasn't intimidated by his menacing expression, though she knew he'd have the edge if he got within melee range. Her fingers itched, ready to press the button to activate her jet pack at the first provocation. He didn't wear armor, but dark robes. _Stupid Sith._ Bel'anna did talk note of the two lightsabers clipped to his belt, easily within reach.

It took her helmet's targeting system for Bel'anna to notice someone else in the room—a blue Twi'lek girl lounging on a couch. She sat up expectantly when Bel'anna entered, but glanced at Archajel. _His slave._

The door hissed shut behind Torian.

Archajel faced Bel'anna square-on. Her eyes flicked to the lightsabers at his belt, but he made no move to reach for them. The Twi'lek swung herself off the couch and stood behind her master.

"You're the champion of the Great Hunt?" Archajel said, arching an eyebrow upward. His voice was as deep and gravelly as a cortosis mine.

Bel'anna crossed her arms. "I am. What do you want?"

Archajel narrowed his eyes. Pressure squeezed Bel'anna's ribcage, and she wondered if he was preparing to choke her with his invisible powers, but it never came.

"Over the course of the Hunt, you acquired targets on Drommund Kaas, Balmorra, Aldaraan, and Taris."

 _He's done his research_. Her instinct was to deny the claim to maintain the secrecy of the Hunt, but there was no point in trying to conceal what he already knew. "I have."

"My missions have led me to the same planets in that time. Without meeting, we have followed the same path."

 _Interesting…_ "If you think that I was hunting you, I can tell you that you aren't on my target list." _Yet._

"If you were hunting me, you'd be dead," he said. "I do not believe in coincidences. The Force has intertwined our paths for a reason."

"Does that reason have something to do with my family?" Bel'anna said. Her fingers itched for her blasters, but she tightened her empty fists. "Because I've never had one."

"If that were so," he said. "You wouldn't have come." He stared at her for another long moment, and a dozen scenarios ran through her mind—namely that he was trying to see her thoughts. Finally, he said, "We share the same blood. I am your brother."

Nothing, including a lightsaber through the chest, would have stunned her more. Her jaw dropped, and no words could escape her closed throat. Archajel seemed prepared for this, because he flicked a finger at the Twi'lek and she stepped forward with a datapad. Bel'anna wordlessly took it to see that a Bioscan was pulled up—apparently for Archajel.

"Compare that scan to your own, and you will see I am not lying."

"All Sith do is lie," Torian spat. He shifted the electrostaff in his grip. "How do we know we can trust that scan?"

Archajel's fists tightened, but he did not move towards his weapons. With an air of haughtiness, he said, "Run any tests needed to persuade yourself of the truth, but make it quick."

"Why do this?" Bel'anna said, finally shaking off the shock that was making her skin run cold. She glanced at Torian, who—although he couldn't see her face—understood her message to keep his guard up. While he took a step forward, she removed one of her gloves and submitted her finger to the needle contained within the medical device, which neatly took a sample of her blood and started analyzing her DNA. While she waited on the results, she said, "Don't Sith lords kill their family to prove a point or something?"

"Ordinarily, yes," Archajel said. "If you were anything less than you are, I would slay you where you stand. But word of your deeds has reached even me. It is not often that a bounty hunter generates a reputation as strong as yours."

"So is this about our…relationship, or about a job?" Bel'anna asked.

"Not yet," Archajel said. "But if I were to call, I would expect you to answer."

"I'm no aak dog," Bel'anna growled, then gestured to the Twi'lek. "Have your own lackeys do your dirty work."

"Hey," the Twi'lek said. "I don't do his dirty work."

"You would be compensated, of course," Archajel waved a hand as if this were a bothersome detail, "as only befits a servant of the Empire. And should we travel in the same circles, I expect we might find need of each other's aid."

Bel'anna raised her eyebrows. "You would aid me if I asked for it?"

Archajel puffed out his chest even further. "I serve no one. That said, if your goals served my own…you could contact me."

Bel'anna narrowed her eyes at him. "I see. Where might your _goals_ be taking you next?"

"Quesh," he said. Bel'anna glanced at Torian, wondering if he'd heard of the planet, and he nodded slightly.

"I'm between jobs," Bel'anna said, replacing her glove as she waited for the Bioscan to process, "but I'm expecting another soon. I'm…willing to keep the comm channel open should a partnership be advantageous."

"Good," Archajel said. "I don't imagine I'll need your services often, but you may prove useful."

"Right," Bel'anna said, barely restraining an eye-roll at his Sith arrogance. "As may you."

"Vette," Archajel said to his Twi'lek companion, and she joined him on his way toward the exit.

"Wait," Bel'anna said, unbridled frustration welling up within her. The medical scanner had just lit up with her blood analysis and laid it next to Archajel's. The words _Blood match_ flashed across the screen. She hooked the scanner up to a port in her armor to download the data, then handed the scanner to Archajel. She stared at him for a long moment, finding no resemblance to herself despite the pad's conclusion. _Of course, who knows what he looked like before he succumbed to the dark side._ "Our…parents. Are they dead?"

Archajel jutted his chin up. "Yes. My—our father was assassinated by a rival Sith Lord, and our mother killed in battle with the Jedi."

Bel'anna settled back on her heels. "Good. I didn't want to have to hunt them down."

* * *

 **Mando'a Translation:**

 **Aliit ori'shya tal'din.** Family is more than blood.

 **Gar serim.** Yes, you're right/That's it.


	8. Lessons in Mando'a

"So…" Mako said as soon as Bel'anna sealed the _Mantis_ hatch. "How'd your meeting with a Sith Lord go?" She looked nervous, but she managed a smile as she said, "Was there blood?"

"Actually, yes," Bel'anna said. She glanced at Torian, but he wouldn't make eye-contact with her. "Turns out, I share some with this Lord."

"What?" Mako flinched. Bel'anna filled her in on what had happened in the meeting. Gault came in halfway through, asking obnoxious questions from his misunderstandings, but eventually the whole crew was in on it. Even 2V seemed mollified.

"Wow," Mako finally said. "It's not often you get a Sith Lord as an ally."

"I wouldn't exactly call him that," Bel'anna said. "I don't imagine our paths will cross often, if ever again." Even as she said it, she knew that Archajel had a point. _We couldn't have traveled to the same planets at the same time by accident. I may not believe in all this griffing Force poodoo, but I don't believe in coincidences, either._

"Naasad darjetii ruusaanyc," Torian said. "An aru'e."

"What he said," Gault said. "Assuming what he said means, 'I wouldn't trust a Sith with a bottle of Taurian brandy.' Those guys have serious anger problems, have you heard? One time, I was just minding my own business in a cantina—okay, well I may have shot a Rodian…"

It was less than an hour after the meeting with Lord Archajel that Mako got the call from Adascorp asking Bel'anna to endorse their line of battle adrenals. And the planet this endorsement would take her to?

Quesh.

Bel'anna and Mako shared a long stare before Bel'anna gave the order to set a course. She couldn't believe her next job—and such an unusual one at that—could have taken her to the same godforsaken planet as her long-lost brother.

Torian hadn't said anything since the meeting with Lord Archajel, and Bel'anna needed to know that he wouldn't turn on her because of a conversation with a Sith that didn't end in the Sith's death. Torian seemed to have taken a liking to the cargo bay, even though he'd been given quarters on the upper deck. It didn't take long to find him fiddling with his blaster rifle.

"Torian," Bel'anna said. He set down the weapon and looked up at her, but then she realized she hadn't planned what to say next. She was back in civilian clothing, her armor properly stored away, and she suddenly wished he couldn't see her face.

"Me'ven?"

She latched onto his word. "What's that mean?"

"Uh…just 'what'."

"Why do you speak in Mando'a so much?" She inwardly cringed at her blatant question, but she crossed her arms and cocked her head like she was running an interrogation.

He didn't seem bothered by it. "Learned that before Basic."

"Well, if I'm going to be around you for a while, and since I'm," she waved her hand, "an honorary Mandalorian, you should probably teach me the basics."

Torian's eyebrows shot up. "You want to learn Mando'a?"

Bel'anna shrugged. "More information never hurt anyone." She held up a finger. "I take that back—I've taken out a few targets because they knew too much."

Torian laughed. "Yeah, could teach you some if you're willing to learn." He crossed his arms and leaned his hip against the work bench. A flicker of pain flashed across his face, and she realized he still hadn't fully healed from his accident. It was all-too-easy to remember what his shredded torso had looked like a few days before. "You remind me of someone," Torian said. "Friend of mine—Corridan Ordo. Great alor'ad." Bel'anna jutted a finger at him at the use of the foreign word, and Torian raised his hands in defense. "Sorry—alor'ad is a command title. Like a captain. Served with him and his clan on Eriadu. Told you about that, right?"

Bel'anna's face wrinkled as she scrounged her memory. She pulled up a crate and sat. "Not that I recall, but I'd be happy to hear about it."

"Sent in to secure a weapons factory," Torian said. "Half the planet is factories. Like Coruscant, but dirtier. Pretty quiet, except for snipers and mines. Real trouble was waiting in the factory."

"That'll drive you stir-crazy," Bel'anna said.

Torian nodded. "Resistance fighters. Geared with stealth generators. Hiding among the workers."

Bel'anna frowned. "Not good."

Torian looked down. "Lot of dead civilians." Bel'anna's face turned down in disgust. She didn't like messy fights. Clean shot, in and out. Dead civilians didn't do anyone any good. "Corridan got most of the workers out. Got us under cover. Could have been worse. Good at thinking on his feet. Sort of like you."

Bel'anna's mouth twitched into an almost-smile. "I'm honored. Maybe I could be your new alor'ad."

Torian's eyebrows scrunched and he shook his head. "Doesn't work like that."

Bel'anna raised her hands in surrender. "No worries. Regardless, I'll do my best not to disappoint."

"Wouldn't worry about it," Torian said. He turned back to the bench, fingering his rifle as if he was anxious to do something with his hands. "Been watching you work. You're an amazing shot."

"You've been staring at me for this long and all you notice is my aim?" She smirked, sarcastically flirting like she had with some of her partners in the past, before she realized he might misinterpret the comment.

"Less likely to shoot me if I only mentioned your aim," Torian said, and she laughed. "It's nice to see a professional in action. Quite the view." Bel'anna raised an eyebrow, then Torian looked down. His hair hung over his face so she couldn't read his expression, but then he looked up with narrowed eyes. "Listen—mind if I ask you a personal question?"

Bel'anna's radar went up when she heard the diminished volume of his voice. She was sure he was going to ask her about her past—about how she could have a Sith Lord for a brother and not know it. Not sure what she was walking into, she said, "Shoot."

Torian met her gaze firmly. "You seeing anyone?"

Bel'anna flinched. "No," she said, then felt like the statement was somehow incomplete. "I've been a little preoccupied." _A lot preoccupied. My whole life._

"Right," Torian said. "Nosy, I know—just curious if you'd ever considered it."

Bel'anna had a strange feeling at the base of her spine that she hadn't felt in a long time—a feeling she remembered from the first time she'd held a blaster, or the first bounty job she'd taken. Nerves. "I haven't really," she said. "Never met a man who wasn't either a target or an asset." _Or a worthless pile of poodoo._ She shrugged, and that feeling in her spine spread to her stomach, like cold kolto working through a wound. "But I would put down the rocket launcher for half a second if the right guy came along."

The corner of Torian's mouth tweaked into a smile. "Good to know," he said.

Bel'anna crossed her arms. "Since you brought it up," she said. "What do _you_ look for in a woman?" She felt her face get hot as soon as she'd asked it, but she pretended like she didn't notice.

It was Torian's turn to look surprised. "Well," he said, "She has to be Mandalorian," he started, "and she has to be a better shot than me."

Bel'anna smiled. "Sounds like I'm two for two. There a reward of some kind?"

The scars on Torian's cheeks lifted as he smiled. "Tell you what—you ever try Mandalorian food? At your adoption, maybe?" Bel'anna shook her head. He continued: "Would you be willing to try it?"

"I'm game for anything you can throw at me," she said.

"Thought I might make you some tiingilar, see what you think," he said. "First chance we get to get back in the galley. Think of it as a challenge. They say any woman who can survive a plate of tiingilar is a keeper."

"Good thing my stomach's made of durasteel then," Bel'anna said. "Bring it on. You can even throw some Mando'a on the menu."

* * *

 **Mando'a Translations:**

 **Naasad Darjetii ruusaanyc.** No Sith are trustworthy.

 **An aru'e.** All enemies.

 **Me'ven.** Huh? What?

 **Alor'ad.** Captain.


End file.
